


Á travers de la cité des morts

by FixaIdea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autistic Enjolras, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Horror, M/M, Pre-Relationship, surreal horror to surreal fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 02:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8603572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: Feuilly is scared out of his mind, the darkness is heavy and cold around him he isn't even sure how or why he ended up in this situation anymore.But Enjolras promised him they were going home. So they were going home.





	

Feuilly was dying, he was sure of it. He had to be.

He had no idea what was going on. The protests started fine enough, (as fine as anything is fine on a bleak November afternoon) if a little too tense but then all of a sudden a commotion broke out and spread like wildfire. What exactly prompted it he couldn’t tell for sure, but from the shouts and screams it seemed like it was a group of fascists who disrupted the protest.

Which in turn prompted the riot police to descend full force on the crowd, attacking with tear gas and batons, mowing down and rounding up everyone they reached, regardless of alignment.

The people, already anxious and angry quickly lost their nerve and all pretence at discipline. Some turned on the police, most tried to get away, the fascist provocateurs attacking all, the police pushing the mass further and further back.

Feuilly was quickly cut from his friends, except Enjolras – to whom he was desperately clinging. People were treading on his feet, pushing and shoving, constricting him, pressing the air out of his lungs. The crowd lurched to the side, sweeping the two along with them. Feuilly felt his leg catch on something or someone but before he could check or stop to help he was carried away on the current of desperate people.

‘Do you trust me?’ Enjolras shouted suddenly, right by Feuilly’s ear.

‘I can take us home’ he went on, obviously fighting for breath ‘But you must trust me.’

‘I do! Please just get us out of here!’

Enjolras seized his arm and began to pull.

‘Don’t let go of me! Not for a moment!’

They fought – literally fought, fist and feet and teeth – their way towards the end of the cul-de-sac they were being forced into. Enjolras bent down to open a manhole – had it not been for Feuilly shoving people away he would have been trampled before he could even touch it. Together though, they managed to get the lid off and climb down into the darkness with minimal damage.

Enjolras tried to pull the cover back into place after them, but someone was already following them down. He gave up and pulled Feuilly into the shadows, out of sight.

Others were descending the ladder, desperate to get away from the stampede on the surface. Soon the crowd was pressing together again, almost as dense now as they have been above. Nobody dared move beyond the faint circle of light below the manhole, out into the empty, cold darkness of the sewers. A surprisingly rational decision, given the general hysteria.

Feuilly felt Enjolras’ hand close around his own. He began to pull him just that way. Out into the dark, damp nothing. Feuilly’s heart sped up, all but crawling out of his chest, up into his throat. He swallowed against it – it was Enjolras, he surely knew what he was doing, he always did. Any moment now he’ll pull out his phone and lead them to some shelter known to him alone, where they can wait out the protest and the mass arrests that doubtless would follow.

He never did.

They crept quietly away from the crowd, out into the ever deepening darkness, broken only by the occasional manhole, which only served to emphasise the endless, formless night around them, illuminating nothing. Feuilly could still hear the distant noises of the protest, and what sounded like muted sirens. Would the police search the sewers? Will they find whatever hiding place Enjolras has in mind?

He stumbled and then almost slipped. The voices now sounded like screaming more than anything but Feuilly had to concentrate hard to make them out above the quiet trickling of water and other small sounds the tunnels themselves were producing.

Lost in his thoughts and listening for possible pursuers Feuilly only now realised that they must have come a good five minutes, if not more, without a single manhole. The darkness has closed in around them like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

‘Where are we going?’

He got no verbal answer. He thought Enjolras might have shaken his head but he couldn’t be certain.

‘Where…?’

‘Home. Please be silent now. We must not be heard and I must not be distracted.’

And that was that for a good ten minutes.

Suddenly he bumped into Enjolras. The man was now standing still. He must have been, as they weren’t moving and Feuilly couldn’t hear his footsteps – but that was all his indication as he couldn’t see his friend even though he was only a literal arm’s length away.

‘Chain. On your right. Knee height. Step over it.’

Feuilly could hear a faint clicking as (he supposed) Enjolras himself stepped over the hypothetic chain. Feuilly inched carefully to the right until, indeed, he could feel the touch of metal on his thigh. He lifted his leg, careful to maintain physical contact with the chain (all without letting Enjolras’ hand go) and carefully put his foot down on the other side. The other leg went quicker, and before he could stop to think or assess his situation Enjolras was dragging him along again.

The terrain was becoming even rougher than before.

‘Stairs’ Enjolras grit out, just a strangled hiss between his teeth and yet loud in the oppressive silence.

An invisible hand reached back for Feuilly and re-arranged their position so Enjolras was standing beside him, pressed up against him, hands gripping both of his elbows.

Feuilly shuddered as they slowly scooted their way downwards, feeling the edge of each step with their toes.

They were floating through the black velvet darkness. At one point Enjolras let go one of Feuilly’s elbows – the part of Feuilly’s mind that still had some grasp on reality supposed he must be using his free hand to trace the walls.

If there were even walls?

Were there any walls? Feuilly certainly couldn’t see them. All he knew is that they were marching on, sometimes turning, sometimes stopping for a while seemingly for no reason at all, advancing slowly but surely into Nothing.

It was almost as cold and wet as it had been on the surface – but at least the wind was mercifully absent. The air smelled of mould and decay, still, stale, undisturbed by the living.

It occurred to Feuilly that it has been a while since he last heard the trickling of the sewer water.

In fact, the silence was almost tangible. Unnatural.

He stumbled on what he thought must have been a big, smooth, round rock.

Enjolras held him upright, advancing into the darkness at a steady, measured pace, unflinching.

Another smooth rock. Something cracked beneath Feuilly’s feet.

The hell was up with these sewers, what was all this detritus?

Feuilly froze.

He stood still, knees suddenly weak.

He knew he should keep going, that he should trust Enjolras as he has so far, trust him to lead them to safety but he couldn’t will himself to move.

These were not the sewers.

They were definitely not in the sewers anymore.

Theoretically of course Feuilly has always known that underneath the bustling, warm, bright city of Paris, the Paris of the living, another Paris was hidden. That underneath the busy streets lay the endless, uncharted tunnels of the Paris Catacombs.

Home of six million dead.

Feuilly’s stomach turned violently. A small part of the vast maze was open to the public and therefore relatively safe but he was certain they were, in fact, somewhere in the restricted parts – which meant a rough 90% of the catacombs.

Feuilly suddenly became aware of a hysterical, heaving, gasping sound – it took him a couple of moments to identify it as his own breathing.

There was something cold, hard and wet against his knees. Something warm and tight and solid around his body.

That was good. He pressed into it, seeking shelter, as if it could help him, as if it could save him.

‘We’re almost out, don’t give up now. We’re almost there.’

Feuilly swallowed heavily, rubbing at his – suddenly, inexplicably – wet face. As his panic receded just enough to allow his senses to function he realised he was kneeling on the ground, and has practically crawled onto Enjolras’ lap, who in turn was hugging him tightly.

That’s right.

Enjolras was there.

Enjolras knew what he was doing.

Enjolras said they were going home.

So they were going home. The road may be spooky but they were going home, and that’s all that mattered.

He scrambled to his feet, clinging to his friend as tight as he could.

Stumbling along now that he knew the odd debris beneath his feet were most likely bones was a lot harder. It didn’t help that the temperature seemed to have randomly dropped.

Or that he felt something touch his cheek.

He was imagining things.

He was still panicking and now that he knew where they were he was imaging things that was it. That was all.

Enjolras stopped again, abruptly pulling Feuilly against him, pressing his face into his shoulder so he couldn’t make a sound.

At this point Feuilly effectively stopped questioning his actions and, having no control over the situation whatsoever, just let the events unfold. He idly wondered why they stopped but surely Enjolras knew.

There were steps.

They were faint and distant, but now that Feuilly became aware of them, they seemed to be getting nearer and nearer.

That in and of itself was bad enough but Feuilly noticed, alarm skyrocketing, that Enjolras’ heart was hammering just as hard as his.

Whoever was approaching them wasn’t a friend.

The steps were clear now, distinct sounds of heavy, slow feet.

Feuilly was trembling. Which was of course to be expected, but so was Enjolras, _which was most definitely not_. Feuilly felt him press his face against his own. His fingers curled into the back of Feuilly’s jacket. They both held their breath as the stranger crept past them, a mere half a metre away.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, until the footsteps faded away completely. Feuilly knew he was crying, he could feel the tears leaking from his eyes, but he didn’t care. He had no strength left to care.

He just wanted to go home.

Enjolras gently slid his hands down Feuilly’s arms and took his hand again.

There was nothing. Nothing felt real. Nothing but that one warm, solid point of contact between them. Feuilly couldn’t even tell for sure that Enjolras was really there in front of him, all he could do was to follow that warm hand as it pulled him through the darkness.

After hours? Days? of floating through the cold, clammy emptiness he felt what he hoped was Enjolras’ other hand on his shoulder.

‘There’s a hole in the wall beside us’ he whispered. Feuilly felt his breath on his face – he must have been only a few inches away ‘About breast-height. You must climb through it. It’s narrow, but I’ll help. I’ll go first.’

With that, Enjolras took Feuilly’s hand and ran it over the edge of a small opening in the wall. It indeed felt rather narrow.

His heart sped up as Enjolras let go of his hand.

‘I’m going through. I’ll call when you can come.’

Feuilly was lost. Robbed of his only comfort, the touch of his guide he swore he could feel the jaws of some gigantic dark monster closing around him. He was conscious of the fact that his friend must still be there beside him, because he could hear the low, scratching sounds he was making as he squeezed through the cavity but it didn’t feel real. It could have been a figment of his imagination, like the phantom touches from before. For all he knew, he could have been all alone.

There was a soft thud.

‘You can come now.’

Drawing in a deep breath, Feuilly pawed at the wall, blindly feeling out the edge of the hole again. Willing his shaking muscles to cooperate he braced his hands against the edge, hopped up – and bumped his forehead on the top of the hole.

He fell back, cussing under his breath. He braced himself again and began to pull himself upwards, slowly, using only the strength of his arms. Enjolras’ hands found him, slid along his arm and latched onto the back of his jacket, pulling him forward. Enjolras stepped closer – bumping his head against Feuilly’s in the process – draped his arms fully around the other and bodily hauled him through the hole.

They landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs, still clinging to each other. Enjolras pawed unsteadily at Feuilly as they sat up, drawing his head against his shoulder again.

‘The worst is over. We’re almost out. We’re safe now.’

And with that, they were on their feet again.

There seemed to be a low, rhythmic beat coming from somewhere before them.

‘Hear that?’ Enjolras asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s an underground club. We’re almost there.’

Indeed, if Feuilly squinted and used his imagination a bit he could almost make out the shape of the tunnel in front of them – which of course meant there must have been a light source there. The beat was getting steadily stronger. He could almost make out the traces of melody with it.

A couple of hundred metres later they arrived at a low archway, covered by a thick, plastic curtain. Enjolras pushed it aside –

Feuilly’s world exploded. His eyes, so accustomed to dead darkness, were assaulted by a storm of bright colours and flashing lights. He shook his head, squinting and blinking, trying to assess his surroundings.

They were indeed in what, unbelievable as it was, looked very much like a club. A small crowd was dancing on the floor, a handful of others gathered at the bar…

‘René!’

Feuilly spun around and saw a tall, dark-skinned man approaching them.

‘Rayan! It’s good to see you!’ said Enjolras, holding out his hand.

‘You too, you too! Ah, I see you brought a friend, hello to you too!’ the man, Rayan, answered, shaking both their hands and flashing Feuilly a brilliant smile.

‘Benjamin Feuilly, nice to meet you!’

‘Rayan Arraki, likewise! Say, am I seeing things, or did you two really come through the back door?’

‘We had to’ Enjolras answered with a heavy sigh ‘The protest turned into a full on riot and a stampede. We had to get out, and this was the only way I knew how.’

Rayan hissed and winced in sympathy.

‘I had a feeling this was gonna happen. Any injuries? We’ve a first-aid-kit ready!’

Feuilly and Enjolras both shook their heads, mumbling their thanks.

‘Well, in that case’ Rayan turned towards the bar, hollering over the music ‘Oi, Serge! Two Backdoor Specials!’

He flung an arm over their shoulders, ushering them towards the bar. The barman (Serge, apparently) handed him two tall drinks.

‘Here, you earned it.’ noticing Feuilly’s raised eyebrows he went on, grinning ‘The house’s special cocktail. Everyone who arrives through the back door gets one. We assume that by the time they get here they all need it.’

‘Too true’ Feuilly said, shaking his head. He took the glass with his left hand (the right was still holding Enjolras’) and took a long gulp. Men and women of varying ages were buzzing around them. He was vaguely aware of Rayan and Enjolras discussing the protest but even as he was trying to pay attention, he felt his thought dissolve and slip away. The sounds and lights melted in the warmth and lively air of the dancers.

The tunnels breathing death already seemed far away.

Enjolras gently squeezed his hand.

‘Come, let’s go home.’

After leaving the club they still had to face some tunnels but these were definitely friendlier – even the ones that had no official public lighting had the occasional guiding light placed in them. Soon enough they reached a ladder and finally, _finally_ crawled out onto the surface.

Night has already fallen, the street lights were on. Feuilly fished out his phone to see if it was in one piece and check the time if possible. Thankfully the phone was operational, and informed him that it was 8 pm. Feuilly was pleasantly surprised – their impossible adventure lasted a mere two hours instead of the days and days and years it felt like.

A heaving sigh piqued his ears – he turned to see Enjolras leaning against the wall of the nearest house, palms pressed flat against it, staring up at the open sky. Feuilly lay a hand on his shoulder.

‘Okay?’

‘I will be’ Enjolras muttered, blinking rapidly. ‘Sorry I put you through this, but I honestly saw no way out. I feared we could _die_ back there and even this… well, anything seemed better.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, it really did get rough, and we _are_ okay’ Feuilly fell silent for a moment ‘I wonder if the others are…’

‘We’ll call them first thing we get home’ Enjolras said, pushing himself away from the wall ‘Which reminds me… Come home with me? Police must still be out and about and my flat is closer.’

Feuilly nodded gratefully. In all honestly, even if he weren’t as disoriented and shaken as he was it would have taken him a long while to figure out where he was and how to get home.

‘Say Enjolras…’ he started, after a while ‘How did you find the way?’

‘Oh that… I counted the steps.’

‘…You counted the steps. Of course. That explains everything.’

Enjolras snorted softly.

‘We were very lucky. The crowd herded us towards one of the six manholes whose numbers I know.’

‘Numbers?’

‘Numbers, codes, call them what you like. The sequence of steps and turns and obstacles that will lead you back to the surface or to a safe place like La Tachanka, the club we just visited. I know a total of fourteen numbers for six entrances.’

Feuilly blinked.

‘That’s amazing!’

‘It’s nothing, really… Rayan, now _he’s_ a living legend. He knows forty two in total.’

The rest of the way was spent in silence. Enjolras’ home was mercifully close to the spot they surfaced, they didn’t have to spend much time out in the wet November night.

Once inside and safely changed into dry, clean clothing they quickly divided Les Amis between them and pulled out their phones. Thankfully their investigation was cut short as the first person on Feuilly’s list, Joly, had all the information they needed.

Joly himself had to leave the protest almost a whole hour before things turned sour, due to his asthma acting up. Despite his insistence that he’ll be fine Lesgle and Grantaire put their collective feet down and escorted him home. After that they spent the rest of their afternoon glued to the news, frantically calling their friends, coordinating them as best as they could.

As it turned out, after they got separated, only Enjolras and Feuilly got swept up by the worst of the stampede – which in fact killed two people and left dozens injured – the others were pushed outwards, to the side. Bahorel and Courfeyrac were arrested but in one piece, Jehan and Combeferre managed to get away with minor scrapes.

Relieved beyond words, Feuilly sank down to the sofa, beside Enjolras. He gave his friend a quick look over – he was pale, and the hand he kept pulling through his hair was shaking. A far cry from his usual calm, impassive, collected self.

Feuilly shook his head.

 ‘I still can’t believe you just marched through the catacombs, with a… a cheat code! Actually’ he went on ‘Even with the counting, wouldn’t have it been easier with a light on? With your phone?’

Enjolras shuddered violently.

‘No. Not at all. It’s a lot worse when you see the bones.’

‘Uh okay, fair enough. It’s just… sometimes it’s so easy to forget that even you can be scared of things… that you’re just a human like me…’

‘I know.’

Feuilly’s eyebrows crept into his hairline. Self-aggrandising wasn’t like Enjolras. Also, his tone and the look on his face was more sad and dejected than anything.

‘Statue, iceberg, robot, unfeeling, unnatural… people have been calling me all those things ever since I can remember.’

‘I’m sorry’ Feuilly whispered ‘I didn’t mean it that way.’

‘I know’ said Enjolras ‘Others do though. I may not be good at expressing my feelings but that doesn’t mean I don’t have them. Marble statue. Thanks, I really need that. It’s not like I’ve been called all the synonyms of non-human since I was five.’

Feuilly swallowed thickly. It was rare and a little unsettling to see Enjolras so vulnerable. But of course it was just as he said – he was only human.

‘I’m sorry’ he muttered, scooting closer ‘Come, let’s get to bed. It’s been a long day.’

Enjolras nodded and stood – only to turn right back to face his friend.

’Actually, Feuilly… If I may ask for a favour…’ Enjolras was twisting his hands, the last traces of his iron-cast composure gone ’If it wouldn’t be a trouble… would you mind sleeping with me?’

Feuilly blinked.

‘Of course not… I mean, sure, no problem.’

It only took them about another hour to get cleaned, eat a bite and settle in for the night. When finally snuggled up in Enjolras’ bed, Feuilly found he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself back in the deadly maze. He sighed, long and deep. He got up closed the bedroom's door and lay back down again. He closed his eyes.

There was no maze.

No fear.

There was nothing but the bed, the warmth and softness.

Nothing else.

The bed dipped and shook slightly as Enjolras twisted and turned beside him. He gently put a hand on his shoulder, lightly pressing up against him. Enjolras turned fully towards him, crawling into his arms. He was shaking all over.

Feuilly was at loss. What could he possibly say to help him calm down?

‘You know’ he murmured finally, running his hand through his friend’s hair ‘When I’m really upset, when the world is just… too much… I like to pretend that it ends at the edge of my bed. That there’s nothing beyond it. That nothing can touch me, nothing can hurt me because I’m safe in that small, warm little world.’

‘That’s why I closed the door’ he added after a beat ‘The smaller the space the safer I feel, at least when I’m seeping.’

Enjolras was silent. For a moment Feuilly worried that he might dismiss this little fantasy of his as ridiculous, as cowardly escapism. But when he finally opened his mouth he said something Feuilly didn’t expect at all.

‘Would you rather be alone then?’

Feuilly fought the urge to sigh. Expressing annoyance right now wouldn’t help anyone – there was no way Enjolras wouldn’t think it was directed at him instead of – for the lack of better word – on behalf of him.

‘Not at all’ he said instead ‘It may be a small world, but you’re more than welcome in it. We can keep each other safe.’

Enjolras raised his head at that and stared at him for a long moment, unblinking, a strange mix of incredulity and hope written on his face. In the dim light Feuilly couldn’t be certain, but he could have sworn his eyes were welling up. Before he could double check Enjolras dropped his head and hid his face in the crook of Feuilly’s neck.

‘Yes’ he murmured ‘We’ll keep each other safe…’


End file.
